


Yarn Bombing

by Vita_S_West



Category: Inspector Morse & Related Fandoms, Lewis (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Comedic Elements, F/M, Fluff, Knitting, a day in the limelight, i said what i said, knitting as relevant to a plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23366629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vita_S_West/pseuds/Vita_S_West
Summary: “Maddox knew Lewis had no shortage of stories about the arrogance of Oxford professors. Apparently, she was starting her own collection.”Set in Series 8, Maddox is called to investigate a bombing—a yarn bombing, that is—and she must juggle difficult professors, irritable students, obscure motives, poetry and her long-distance relationship with her husband. Must be a regular day in Oxford!
Relationships: Lizzie Maddox/Tony Maddox
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51





	Yarn Bombing

When DS Lizzie Maddox received a call about a bombing, she expected bloodshed, devastation, destruction and all manner of carnage and mayhem. However, dispatch’s disgruntled correction came minutes after the first set of officers arrived at the scene. The caller had left out a keyword: yarn. 

Maddox had never even heard of such a beast, but there she stood, in front the yarn-covered car of an irritable Oxford professor.

“You see, sir, when you reported the, er, incident,” she attempted to explain, her eyes lingering on the vehicle. 

“It is a _crime_!” Duncan Watkins exploded with a thin spray of spit. “It is _vandalism_!”

“You said the word “bombing”, it gives the impression that there was, uh—”

“Are you not taking this seriously? I spoke to DI Hathaway, _personally_. Should I be speaking with him again?” His upper lip curled and his eyes flashed.

Maddox knew Lewis had no shortage of stories about the arrogance of Oxford professors. Apparently, she was starting her own collection.

“That won’t be necessary, Professor Watkins. What do you think—is there anyone who you think—”

“It was Chloe Ellis. A second year. We had an argument last week about her term paper, which she thought was much better written than it actually was,” he barked out. 

“Did you see Ms. Ellis or—”

“No, I know she is responsible.”

“Because of her bad term paper?”

“Because she knits and because we are near where she works. Really, do I have to do all your work for you?”

Maddox promptly agreed to interview Ms. Ellis and investigate more out of a desperate sense to be away from Watkins than any sense of duty. Normally, she would have put up more resistance and asserted herself more, but she was in no mood. Her main interest lay in getting to the end of her day with as little antagonism as possible.

The day had started as it did normally enough, with her rushing about to get ready, when she had felt a sudden twinge of something. Maybe it was unease, or grumpiness. She had been in the bathroom trying to brush her teeth with one hand, while she straightened her hair with the other, when her elbow caught the mouthwash she had senselessly left open. 

Mouth still full of toothpaste she had watched with her lips parted in a silent scream as the bottle splashed downward, staining the bathmat and drifting across the tiles. She had the sense to put her toothbrush down, but not to spit out before swearing. Toothpaste and spit leaked onto her chin. On her hands and knees, she used the sodden bath mat to clean up the mess. She had felt a rage of such immensity, her first instinct was to shout for Tony, get _him_ to deal with it—surely it was him who’d left the bleeding mouth wash uncapped!—when she suddenly remembered she was alone. He was in Canada for work. 

Still on her hands and knees, wiping ineffectually at the mess, she had frozen as she felt something inside her chest tighten and then snap. As quick as she had been there to anger, an intense wave of sadness had smashed into her like a tsunami decimating a small fishing boat. Despite the fact he had been gone for well over a month and they were well used to their routine, calling every night at dinner and then before bed and Skyping on Saturday and Wednesday, she had missed him with a new and sudden fervour, as if he had just left her all over again. Eyes prickling, she had wiped at her eyes and nose with mouthwash scented hands, ruining her eye makeup, as toothpaste and spit dried to her chin. 

She had arrived fifteen minutes late to work and promptly sent out the door again on this errand. It wasn’t like she could tell her swathes of male colleagues she missed her husband so much that she’d had a little cry. Lewis and Hathaway may be all right blokes, but they didn’t exactly invite the personal. Besides, it was more likely that someone would point out that they’d chosen this for Tony’s work and thus she really had no right to complain. That may be so, but it didn’t lessen the loneliness of going to bed and waking up without him.

All in all, it was shaping up to be a very bad day. 

***

Maddox walked quickly up the street to find Chloe Ellis at her job, certain Watkins’s eyes were burning into her back all the way. He was an arrogant prick if ever there was one. Partly to complain, partly to investigate, she texted Lewis as she walked to find out if he knew anything about Watkins. 

The cafe, Sunny Disposition, was cute and comfortable with plenty of green plants in the corners and in front of the large windows. The strum of guitars from a speaker could be heard over the clinking cups and the steam of the espresso machine. The girl behind the counter was pretty with a brown bob.

“What can I get for you?” she greeted Maddox with a warm smile.

She asked, “Do you know where I can find Chloe Ellis?”

The girl blinked. “That’s me. Who are—”

Maddox showed her her badge. “Do you know a Professor Watkins?” 

“Yeah, he’s my literature professor. What’s this about?” The friendly expression shut like a slamming door and she regarded Maddox coolly. 

Maddox grimaced, not because of the unpleasantness, but because of the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.

“Do you know anything about yarn bombing?”

Eyeing her skeptically, she said, “Yes…”

“Someone yarn bombed his car this morning and—”

“And he thinks I did it?” She began sputtering, her teeth gnashing.

“If you could just tell me where you were this morning so that I could rule you out of the inquiry.”

“I was here. All morning.” She looked enraged and Maddox couldn’t exactly blame her.

“Can anyone confirm that?”

Turning around, Chloe shouted irritably, “Oi, Ryan, can you get Pat to tell the policewoman I was here all morning?”

A young man with ruffled hair and a somewhat dazed expression popped up from the kitchen. “What?”

“Get Pat!” she ground out. 

Ryan disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. 

“He started at 10,” Chloe said, arms crossed. “He also thinks Watkins is a git,” she added tersely. “Everyone who has ever had the misfortune to take a course with him does.”

Pat, a middle aged woman came around from the. Ryan lingered at her elbow, an anxious expression on his face as his eyes hopped from Maddox to Chloe to Pat. 

“Can you tell the policewoman I was here _all_ morning?” Chloe asked, her voice turning plaintive. 

“Oh, yeah. She opened with me at 7.”

“All morning?”

“Yes, it was busy, so she couldn’t take her break until mid-morning.”

“Which I took at that table there,” Chloe added quickly, pointing to a table by the window. 

“Oh yes, I saw her,” Ryan added. He had a slight accent she noticed. 

“All right then. Thank you for your time,” Maddox said.

“That all?” Chloe asked. 

“Unless you can think of any suspicious characters or comings and goings,” Maddox prodded. 

“Around here?” Pat chortled. “Just the students. And you.”

“Thank you,” Maddox said again. 

Turning to go, Pat nearly walked right into Ryan. “Oh, why are you hanging about! She’s a copper, not immigration!” She walked around him, muttering about international students. 

Ryan glanced at Maddox, flushing and turning back to follow Pat. If he had a tail, it would have been tucked between his legs. 

“American?” she asked Chloe. 

“No, Canadian. Bit more standoffish that lot. But nice enough.” There was a tinge of pink to her cheeks that made Maddox think he was a bit more than nice to her. 

“Well, I don’t have anything else to bother you with, Ms. Ellis.” She gave her a generous smile.

“Wait,” Chloe called. Maddox paused, turning to face her. “Yarn bombed?”

“Yeah. The entire car was covered.”

“Even the wheels?”

“Yes.”

Chloe cackled. 

Maddox was about to turn away when suddenly she had a thought. “You know about knitting, right?”

Pausing her laugh, Chloe said, “Yeah. What about it?”

Maddox walked back over, and showed her a picture. “Do you know anything about this?”

“No, that’s… there’s no way I could do that. That’s a, one sec…” she zoomed in on the phone and nodded. “Yeah, that’s a hyacinth stitch. It’s like a type of lacing. That’s more advanced than I’m at. I’m still struggling with a stockinette stitch.”

“A stocking stitch, right.” Maddox nodded. “And this is a…”

“A hyacinth stitch.”

“Hyacinth. Like the flower. Right. Thank you for your time.”

She left a giggling second-year and went back to look at the car.

***

Maddox had met Tony at a party, the week she started as a constable. It was her first weekend off and she wanted to unwind with friends. However, everyone was in their twenties and drugs did come out. Not wanting to be a stickler or leave, She had pretended not to see and moved to a back living room, where she had found Tony, apparently re-arranging the books on the bookshelf. It was the daftest thing she’d seen all night and she had to laugh. Startled, he had whirled around, his face colouring slightly. His hand had found his hair and gave it a nervous tug. It had been longer then, a bit shaggier. 

“‘Lo,” he had greeted nervously. 

Her first impression of him was that he was quite flustered but quite pleasant.

“Doing a spot of cleaning?” she had asked, laughing. 

“Oh y’know. Me mum’s a librarian so it’s really just in the blood at this point.”

“It’s quite a handy party trick. Cleaning up the mess rather than making one.”

“Well, you know what they say.” He waved his hand absently. 

“No, what do they say?”

“Always leave a place better than you found it.”

“Oh,” Maddox had nodded. “I like that. That’s very… it’s good.” It had been her turn to be flustered. 

“I’m Tony,” he said, suddenly starting forward, hand out. 

“Lizzie.”

His hand had been soft and warm and she had found herself wishing hers were that soft. She’d spent most of the last week outside or in a dry air conditioned office. She had been sure her fingers were ashy, even if the lighting didn’t betray this fact. Still they had smiled and laughed awkwardly and looked at each other under lashes or out of the corners of their eyes, both acknowledging that they thought the other was fetching, wanting to start something, but unsure exactly how to. 

Stutteringly, hesitantly, they had started talking at once then laughed and fell silent, then urging the other to speak first. Falteringly, they had found their footing and started to speak, and then, they had hardly stopped talking. He had taken a cab with her, saying he lived not far from her, so that they could keep speaking. He actually had lived a good twenty minutes in the opposite direction. 

It wasn’t until years later that Tony admitted he had been arranging the books because he was looking for his Donna Tart book, which he had lent the party thrower well over a year ago and had been hoping to steal it back. Later, he would tease that like any good copper, Lizzie had caught him in the act and prevented the crime. 

***

Uniforms had taken the knitting off the car—for evidence. They had had some trouble getting the wool off of the side mirrors without damaging them, an idea that incensed Watkins all the more. In the end they’d just cut off the knitting, much to Watkins’s irritation. “Don’t you care about the sanctity of evidence?” he demanded, hands on his hips. 

“We could remove the mirrors as well, sir,” the uniform replied, his own irritation sinking through. 

That shut up the professor, but didn’t calm him down. He paced back and forth like a caged animal, sunlight glinted off his glasses, a sheen on his forehead.

“Have you arrested her yet?” he barked imperiously when he saw Maddox return. 

Maddox paused in her advance, taking a second to prepare herself for the unpleasant conversation. “No, sir, she has an alibi.” _And also this is ridiculous._

He scoffed and was about to say more, when Maddox busied herself with a uniform.

“We’re going to head off now, ma’am.” His name was Rose. He gave her a sympathetic look after glancing over her shoulder at Watkins.

“And no one saw anything?” she asked.

Rose shook his head and with one last, almost mournful smile, left her alone with Watkins.

“I’ll just have to check the CCTV,” Maddox muttered more to herself than to anyone else.

Watkins was waiting for her. “How do you _mean_ —”

“Professor Watkins, Ms. Ellis was at work and her co-worker vouched for her. I’ll check CCTV for a,” she cleared her throat, “suspect.”

“And that’s it, then?”

“Yes.” Maddox had no idea what else this man could want. She was going to check CCTV as if an actual crime had been committed, not a bit of mischief. His car had been covered with a knitted blanket!

“And nothing else?”

Maddox had to bite her lip to keep from scoffing at him. “I suppose I can search the car… for a clue.”

“For how to do your job?”

“Have a good day Mr. Watkins,” she said. She pasted a giant smile to her face. If there was one thing she had learned from her stint working retail, it was how to say thank you when she meant fuck you.

“Wait, officer! Wait a moment.”

She paused, heaving a sigh, and turned, ready for more punishment.

“Could you take a look? Please?” He was sheepish now.

Maddox bit her lip and nodded. While he hovered behind her, she poked around the backseat. It was a regular car with a regular mess. Receipts, reusable grocery bags, a window wiper… There was also a stack of what looked like exam papers and a bag full of books. Other than the usual garbage there is nothing of note.

“I’m sorry I was a tad abrupt before. I’ve just had a lot going on. All these students passing in subpar work and then acting like they’re Geoffrey Hill—you probably don’t know who he is, but he’s a very famous contemporary poet—and they’re all rubbish. And my neighbour keeps blathering on about my car parking too close to her bins and my wife and are separating—”

He just kept on. He barely paused for breath and Maddox barely cared. Apparently his guilt or embarrassment led to some feeling that wasn’t quite friendliness. Rather, it was an assumption that she could possibly care about the minute details of his life.

The front seat was a little more interesting. Her eyes passed over more books and a jumper and fell on a beer bottle with a note taped to it. She yanked on her gloves quickly, as Watkins kept prattling. It was a plain brown bottle, its label peeled off, but the note read _Amelia Warnock_.

“Have you seen this before?” Maddox interrupted.

“Hm? What’s that?”

She held the bottle up for him to see. The outrage returned like a flash flood.

“No! I don’t drink and drive! That is preposterous. My own sister was run off the road not one year ago by a drunkard. The insinuation that—”

“So you didn’t place it there?”

“No I just said—”

“Do you know anyone called Amelia Warnock?”

“Who’s that?”

“It’s the name on the bottle.” She showed him and he shook his head, no. 

“This must be _some_ sort of sick joke.”

“It’s definitely a prank, sir. I’ll look into it. Try not to think about it.” 

He began muttering again and she wished him a good day, eager to make her escape. She was hardly three feet away when she stopped in her tracks again.

Turning, she called, “Sorry, before did you just say you’re in a parking dispute with your neighbour?”

“Dispute? Hardly! She is completely overreacting.”

“What is the disagreement about?”

He scoffed and again off he went. “She keeps insisting that I ran over her curb, that I block her bins, and that I drove over her hyacinth. It’s her fault her stupid cat lies on my spot and—”

“Her _hyacinth_?”

***

They had got married on a November day, a week after solid rain. Her mother had been fretting about the weather and the guests all getting soaked, but after so much torrential downpour, Maddox had resigned herself to it.

On the day in question, the sun came out like a miracle, leaving the dreariness and worries behind. When she entered the church, the sun streamed through the high windows, creating a halo over Tony’s head. As she had approached, she had to squint to keep sight of him with all the brightness. No matter how happy she was when she rubbed tears away it was mostly the sun’s fault—mostly. When she looked again, he seemed to be surrounded by a thousand dancing points of life. And his smile. God, his smile. There was sun there, too. 

***

While waiting for the CCTV footage, Maddox had the mind-numbingly foolish task of interviewing a neighbour about a bit of knitting and a brown beer bottle. Watkins had made it seem like his neighbour, Rachel Gravelle, was out to get him. If this were the case Maddox would hardly have blamed the woman. In fact, Maddox felt as if she and the woman were practically already friends. Nor did she think any judge would convict. Mainly because it was so silly. 

The ridiculousness of the accusations laid against Mrs. Gravelle increased when she came to the door in her wheelchair. She greeted Maddox with a smile and invited her in for tea and biscuits upon seeing her badge. 

“Has someone done something naughty?” she asked, with a cheeky sort of smile, leading the way. 

“A bit of vandalism is all,” Maddox said. 

“Oh. Well, it’s good of you to be so thorough,” Mrs. Gravelle said with some confusion. “Please sit.”

Maddox sat across from her at the kitchen table. It was a warm room, painted blue with wide counters. 

“My husband Harvey made these,” Mrs. Gravelle announced proudly, proffering the biscuits. 

It was several minutes before Maddox could come back to the vandalism it was unlike Mrs. Gravelle had committed. (Unless Harvey had helped her.)

“These are very good. Ta.”

“Harvey is an excellent cook. Last week he was making pizza dough! Our daughter gave us a bread maker. But I think that takes part of the joy out of it even if it makes it easier. Some suffering makes for better characters. Certainly makes for stronger shoulders. Do you make bread?”

“Erm, no…”

“Oh well you must! There is a great joy in creating something with your hands, kneading and beating the dough into shape and then there’s the smell! Heavenly. You should make bread.”

“Right. I understand that you—”

“Does your husband make bread?”

“Tony? No, he hasn’t the time.”

“The time? Well, he should do something nice for you!”

Maddox didn’t necessarily disagree, but it was hardly the time. “He’s away right now.” She heard herself say it without realizing how badly she’d wanted to talk about it all day.

“He’s left you all alone?” Mrs. Gravelle seemed unduly outraged on her behalf. 

“He has a work contract. And I’m not all alone! I have mates and work. Besides, it’s a good opportunity for him. For his career.” Maddox stopped herself abruptly, uncertain why she suddenly needed to defend their choices. Why she was telling this stranger about her life.

“But you miss him,” Mrs. Gravelle said knowingly. 

Maddox nodded. This wasn’t the sort of thing that she could talk about at work with a bunch of policemen. Sure, she worked with Lewis and Hathaway, who were hardly the picture of machismo, but there was still so much left unsaid. Especially _between_ those two. 

“These things are hard.” She patted Maddox’s hand and nodded in a knowing way that was somehow compassionate and not condescending. “We’re not really meant to live apart. Yes, we need our space, but living apart is different than taking some time to be alone with ourselves or do different things. 

“It is,” Maddox said. “We talk on the phone and he knows everything that’s going on but it’s not the same. It’s… he used to steal the covers and we always used to fight about it. At first I was glad because I never wake up in the middle of the night cold, but now… I really miss it now.”

“That sounds very difficult. Talking is good, but it doesn’t substitute those little bits of human touch by any means. If it’s getting harder you should try and get out and see him. A change in scenery may do you some good.”

“Maybe,” Maddox said, thoughtfully. Lifting the biscuit to her mouth, she suddenly remembered this was a suspect. She was eating a _suspect’s_ biscuits. “Mrs. Gravelle, I wanted to ask you about your parking dispute with your neighbour.”

“Oh, Abeley.” She threw her hands in the air in exasperation. “I don’t say this very often but he’s—”

“Difficult?”

“A real tosser.”

Maddox snorted then cleared her throat to cover the laughter. 

“We have groceries delivered, you see,” she motioned to her wheelchair. “Sometimes the folks who deliver them need to park in front of his hyacinth bushes. Sometimes our kids do too. It’s not ideal, and it is on his side but he’s always so fussy about it as if the world being denied a direct view of his bushes from the road will cause an outbreak of the plague. He was coming ‘round shouting at Harvey. He shouted at my Susanna when she was coming by with the twins. You’d think he’d have some shame at shouting at children.”

 _He was probably used to yelling at kids_ , Maddox though. She felt a twinge of guilt for even asking. If Rachel Gravelle had done it… Maddox rather thought she was in the right. 

“Do you—do you knit?”

“Knit? No, I never had the patience. I wanted to, when I was in school, but never could get the patience for it.”

“What did you go to school for?” Maddox asked. 

“Counselling, of course!”

“Ah.”

***

Maddox arrived at the office after a light lunch. After leaving Mrs. Gravelle she had tried to call Tony. No luck, which left her feeling more dejected. Mrs. Gravelle sent her off with biscuits, chortling at the prank played on Watkins. Maddox didn’t blame her, but she was back to square one and needed the CCTV footage, something that never ceased to amuse Robbie. She went to him for commiseration, and laughed too. 

“Do you think DI Hathaway will let me drop it?” she asked hopefully. 

“Unlikely,” Lewis said with a grimace. “James mentioned it to Moody to see if we could use your help for the homicide near Lincoln College. He said wanted you to wrap this up. Keep community relations up… that sort of thing.”

Maddox groaned. “I wish I could investigate a homicide.”

“Settle for not committing one. These blokes are real—”

“Tossers?”

“Blimey, I was going to say a real piece of work. Yours works too though.”

Maddox smiled at him and went over to her desk, sitting down heavily. “It is weird though. Someone left a brown bottle with a note on it.”

“What’d the note say?”

“Just a name.”

“Sounds like you have a lead,” Lewis said with a wise smile. 

“No CCTV though. Low priority.”

“Thank god, I’ve got an actual high priority.”

At least only her time was being wasted, even if it gave her more time to fret about Tony. “Best get at it,” she nodded to her desktop. 

“Good luck,” Lewis said with a grimace Before he left the room he added, “let me know if you need any back up with your professor. Lord knows I’ve seen my share.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m sure I won’t need to waste your time.”

“All the same,” he said, giving her a stern look. 

She smiled and he slipped out, back straight, gait swift. She couldn’t imagine retiring then coming back. It sounded like a headache, but god love him, Lewis seemed to take the whole thing in stride. He seemed pleased to be working with Hathaway. She supposed, when you got to that age, you’ve done it all before and there was nothing new under the sun. Sure, technology got more advanced and more technical, but you still had the human element at its core. 

Hathaway was a bit different. Standoffish. She had an old boss who would have described him as anti-social. To her he just seemed… quiet. Like his soul was vibrantly loud and busy as a city, while he tried, and occasionally failed, to maintain an outward placidity. He’d rather not share anything unless it was worth sharing, which suited her just fine. He did his job and let her do hers and didn’t prattle on about this or that or go to drinks. When it came to bosses, it was disconcertingly easy to have something so much worse. God knows, she’d had enough of that. 

She could tell he was different with Lewis, though he had initially seemed irritable with him. She remembered the taxidermy case, coming back to the office to find Hathaway’s shoulder slumped and relaxed for the first time since they’d found the body. Lewis’s hand resting lightly on his shoulder. She’d turned back to give them space. 

They were an odd pair. 

Turning to her task at hand, she looked up Amelia Garvin. She couldn’t find anyone in the criminal database. (There was an Emily Garvin and an Amelia Garcia. Neither seemed to have links to the college or Watkins.) A wider search of Oxford’s academic site turned up nothing. Miserably, Maddox found herself switching to idle googling and Facebook stalking. The name and Oxford University turned up nothing. The name and Oxfordshire turned up nothing. Out of frustration rather than any hope at fruit she tried Amelia Garvin and beer. 

The search engine prompted if she meant Amelia Beers Warnick Garvin, poet. 

“Of course it’s a bleeding poet,” she groaned, “bloody Oxford.”

The reason she had been drawing no results was because Amelia Beers Warnick Garvin may have been the real name, but her pen name was Katherine Hale. A Canadian and World War One poet, her most famous volume had been titled, “Grey Knitting and Other Poems”.

“A bleeding Canadian. Now where have I seen one of 'em lately,” Maddox muttered, shaking her head. 

***

It didn’t take much more searching to find that Ryan Talbot, Canadian and apparent knitting enthusiast, was completing his graduate degree on poets of the First World War. She found a blog post he’d written guest-written on the College’s English site. He was interested in expanding the canon to include more women and non-Westerners than merely Graves, Sassoon and the like. He also seemed to have an immense interest in Sir Nizamat Jung Bahadur and Sairojini Naidu, whose poetry included “Coromandel Fishers”, so she figured she ought to be grateful he didn’t let loose a basket of fish in the car. 

Leaning back in her chair, she contemplated charges for the first time. Public mischief? Vandalism? Unnecessary waste of wool?

Why on earth had Ryan cared enough to do something so elaborate?

Sighing, she pulled herself to her feet. She could think of one way to find out. 

***

He was at the counter when she arrived, greeting her with a weary, “You again.”

“Me again. Ryan, why don’t you like Professor Watkins?” There was no point hopping around this. She’d wasted most of her day so far, she wasn’t giving it anymore brain power. 

His mouth thinned and his eyes narrowed. “What makes you say that?”

“D’you like him then?” she asked flatly. 

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “Why not?”

“So leaving all the knitting in his car? That was what? A little gift lest he get cold?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” He turned to leave. 

“Oi! We’re still talking here.”

With a grimace he turned back. “I don’t see any proof,” he said, the accusation rife in his tone. 

“Really? Grey knitting? Katherine Hale? Amelia Garvin? Really, Ryan, I read your blog post!”

He shrugged face impassable.

Her exhaustion landed on her shoulders like a weighted eagle, pressing its talons in sharply. 

“Are you actually going to make me go get CCTV? ‘Cause I will. But that will only make me more annoyed and right now I’m already quite short, as you may note.”

“Get CCTV?” he bit out incredulously. “It was a bit of knitting! Don’t you have real stuff to worry about?”

“Sadly, I’ve been put on this, as Mr. Watkins is quite distressed.”

“Distressed? He’s the one who damn near failed me because he doesn’t accept changes to the canon! My advisor had to ask for a different grader so I wouldn’t fail the course! _He’s_ distressed!”

He fumed, fists clenched and for the first time that day, none of this surprised Maddox. The day’s absurd trajectory had held _some_ logic. Watkins pissing everyone off uniformly seemed to be the one continuing factor. Did she even want to charge someone for essentially a knitting project? Wouldn’t the case just get thrown out for wasting court time?

She put her head in her hands and issued a groan. 

“Could you promise,” she said after a long moment, “not to do anything to wind him up again?”

She was sure she looked half-crazed, eyes wide, teeth gritted. 

To her surprise and immense relief, he nodded, looking vaguely taken aback. 

“ _Thank_ you.” She straightened and backed away from the counter. “I suppose that will be all. With all this mischief behind us,” added giving him one last significant look before turning to leave. 

“What are you going to tell him?” Ryan called after her. 

Arms held wide, as if to welcome what would surely be a torrent of belittlement and abuse, she said, “That it’s been dealt with accordingly.”

***

She called Moody first, thinking it necessary that he should be appraised of the situation in case Watkins called Moody immediately to complain. 

Somehow this was the most terrible and frustrating conversation of her day. 

“Oh,” Moody said shortly when he realized it was her and why she was calling. “Are you still working on that?”

Maddox’s mouth opened in a silent scream. He kept talking. 

“I thought you’d be helping Lewis and Hathaway on this Lincoln College case by now. It’s a little more pressing, don’t you think?”

“Yes of course, sir.”

“Did Hathaway have you on this?”

“Wh—no, er, yes, but I’ll go right over there now, sir.”

“Well, they don’t need you over there, Maddox, they need you in the office.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Really, Maddox, I had no idea you were wasting your time on this! I would think you would be a little more up to date on your Inspector’s doings. And _Hathaway_ sending you on this errand...”

“Yes, sir, I’m headed over there now.”

It was of course a lie, as she had to call Watkins first. She thought about going in person to better read facial expressions, but she couldn’t hang up on someone in person.

Listening to the ringing, Maddox had a wild moment of hope in which she thought, maybe she could leave a message. And then never answer the phone should he ever call back. 

No such luck. 

“Hello,” his voice cracked. 

“Hello Professor Watkins, this is DS Maddox with the Thames Valley Police.” Her voice was artificially chipper, hoping the pleasantness would infect him. 

“Do you have any news?”

“Yes, I spoke with the—” _culprit_ was a ridiculous word she realized, “individual who made the knitting.”

“ _And_?”

“We talked and I have been assured that it was a one time incident, a joke, and that there won’t be any further mischief.”

“And you know that how exactly?”

“We spoke and I was assured as much. You can rest assured that this is the end of it.”

“Because they told you that and you were silly enough to believe it?”

Was the man _afraid_ of knitting?

“Well, sir, as there was no damage to yourself or your property—”

“It’s not my safety! It’s my reputation that there are no consequences to disrespect. I am known in this community, at this university! People saw me and my car in that state. If we don’t teach people that this sort of vandalism won’t be tolerated what is next? What other mischief and abuse of property will they undertake?”

Not afraid of knitting. Afraid of looking foolish, never mind that he looked more foolish yelling on the phone call than with a bit scarf on his car. 

“Well, sir, by your own admission I must conclude that I have made the right decision.”

“ _What_?”

There was something about the way rich people say _What_. The incredulous outrage a prelude to disgust. The word was honed to a point. It came out of his mouth like a dagger coming out of a sheaf. 

Maddox pressed on, “As you said yourself, sir, your safety is not at risk. Your car was unharmed. You were mildly inconvenienced. If charges were pressed they would be thrown out for wasting court time.”

“And you know that do you?”

The sneer was so palpably slimy, Maddox had the urge to wipe off her ears. 

“Yes, sir, I do.” She kept her voice firm and flat. “If it were to go to court it would be thrown out and then you would look foolish _and_ irresponsible for wasting court time. By your own admission that would be unacceptable.”

“But I—”

Maddox stared at the roof of her car as if it were god himself mocking her. “Is that all sir?”

There was a silence as if he were doing some very deep thinking. Maddox wondered if it was the first such occasion of his life. 

“I really do have to go, sir.”

The problem was he had to be the one to dismiss her. “Well as you are out of your depth and would be unable to make an effective case I can see the limits of the mercurial talents of your police force. As such, it would be unwise to continue on this course.”

Maddox was silent for a moment, several remarks spinning around her head. Her central most thoughts, however, revolved around what she would tell Tony about his day when it was finally over. 

To Watkins, eyes narrowed, she said as she had said before, “ _Thank you_.” She hung up. 

***

She met Lewis as she pulled up. 

“Ah, there you are. I thought you were still trapped under your knitting project.”

“Moody said you needed me, sir.”

Lewis could read the frustration in expression and gave her a sympathetic look. “Ah. With a few words to you in between.”

“That’s about right, sir.”

“You got through it and now you’ve got a good how-to guide for the next round.”

When he smiled his eyes crinkled, a gesture that always made him look warmer rather than more tired. 

She smiled back. “That’s right, sir, I got you something as DI Hathaway said you’d rather like it.”

“A present?” His brow furrowed.

“Aye.” Pulling out her phone, she cleared her throat. “All through the country, in the autumn stillness,/A web of grey spreads strangely, rim to rim;/And you may hear the sound of knitting needles,/Incessant, gentle,—dim.”

He snorted and as he shook his head at her he said, “Are you sure you’re not Hathaway disguised?”

“I haven’t the legs for it, sir.”

“All the same, seems like we’ll make an Oxford DI of you all the same. Let’s go find our suspect.”

***

It would be far too simple, Maddox decided as she wiggled her key in her front lock, to be able to get into her bleeding apartment to put her feet up. “Buggering bugger,” she growled at it, feeling an intense temptation to commit thorough violence.

“Alright, love?” called a voice. One door over was a pretty blonde woman, just coming out of her house, vibrant red lipstick and a coat hanging open to reveal a black corset, a pair of black trainers on her feet. 

“Yeah,” Maddox said with a tight smile. “I’m fine, it’s just this—”

“The lock stuck?”

“Yes,” Maddox grumbled. She probably looked ridiculous, losing her cool over a her own front door.

“Let me get you some oil for that.”

“That’s very kind of you… You’re not in a hurry?”

“I’m early for my shift. Besides, won't take a sec.”

Maddox wriggled her key out of the lock and waited. Sure enough, the woman reappeared with a small canister, humming under her breath.

“I really appreciate it,” Maddox said, with a tired smile. 

“Not at all. We girls have to look out for each other.”

The key went in quite easily and suddenly her apartment and her evening were open before Maddox once again. 

“Ah, ta!” Maddox said. She was so relieved she could cry. 

“You alright?” The woman asked, eyeing Maddox with some concern. 

“I just had…” Maddox paused to punctuate her words with a deep groan, “the _worst,_ most absurd day. And the stakes were so low! I got yelled at by so many people for the _silliest_ things. And normally it wouldn’t bother me, but my husband’s been away and everything just feels so much worse.”

“I’m sorry that happened, that's really rotten. And I know exactly what you mean,” the woman said sympathetically. “My husband is also away right now for work. It’s really hard. And as for being yelled at, at work… well, I am in customer service…”

“Your husband’s away too?”

“Yeah, he’s in Beijing doing recruitment for the University.”

“Really? They recruit out there?”

“For international students, yeah, loads. What does your husband do?”

“He’s an engineer. He’s in Canada for work.”

“A long way off.”

“Yes…” Maddox said. “Sorry, I’ve just realized that I didn’t ask your name.”

“Rebecca Oppenheimer, but everyone calls me Bex.”

“I’m Lizzie Maddox. Would you like to come in or—”

“I should probably head to work, but thank you. Another time, for sure.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Maddox said, smiling, then glancing down at Bex’s corset. “Do you mind my asking—”

“The Blue Rondo. It’s a S&M club, not to shock you,” she added with a laugh. “It’s mostly like any other waitressing job. People are mostly good and respectful but you did get the occasional oddball and handsy prick, if you pardon my language. You can’t beat the tips though!”

Maddox shook her head, “Don’t worry, it takes much more to shock me.”

“Sounds like a good challenge. What do you do?”

“I’m a Detective Sergeant. I mostly work homicide.”

“That sounds highly exciting.”

“It can be, when it’s not...”

“A complete nightmare,” Bex supplied, with a knowing smile. “Listen, I should dash and _you_ should put your feet up.” She started down the walk.

“I will. Thanks again. And Bex?”

“Yeah?” She turned, her head tilted.

“Come by tomorrow for that drink, yeah?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

***

The greatest pleasure of takeout was that it allowed you to go from your front door to your bed, pausing only to leave your trousers crumpled on the floor. Maddox curled up, with her food and her phone and rang Tony again. 

It was only seven, but still that seemed impossibly late. He’d be in the middle of the afternoon, at work, but she figured it was worth a chance to call. 

When his voice came on the other end, she felt her entire body ease quickly. Even though she was already in bed, it felt like she was finally coming home.

“Hello, love, I saw your call from earlier. Is everything all right?”

“It is now. I’ve just had a very long day.”

“Oh dear, what happened?”

She sighed again, feeling as ragged as her sweatshirt. “What do you know about Canadian poetry and knitting?”

“Not much. Should I?”

“Well, you’re in luck, I had a day based on it.”

“Oxford certainly knows how to keep you guessing,” Tony said. 

“That it does. You ever heard of yarn bombing?”

“That’s either very dangerous or very boring, I would say.”

She laughed. “It was oddly eventful.”

“But not in a good way,” he said. 

He could hear it in her voice, as she tried to sound light and to joke. He knew her far too well for all that. 

“I really miss you,” she heard herself say, her voice a little tight. 

“I missed you too, love.” He let out his own ragged sigh. “Just a few months longer.”

“I know,” she groaned. “Doesn’t make it any less painful now.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said quietly.

They had a moment of silence, listening to the other’s breathing, meditating on the distance and time between them. Still, as hard as it was, even with the distance between them amplified, on the phone with him was still the happiest she’d been all day. 

“I did make a new friend today. We’re going to have a drink tomorrow. Her husband is also MIA for work.”

“I’m still with you, I’m just—”

“Harder to yell at.”

He snorted. “Something like that.”

“Wanna hear about a hyacinth stitch before you go back to work?”

“Only if it’s you, love, who’s telling me.”

“It’s just me you’ve got.”

“Mm, I’ve lucked out in that case.”

“Well, we already knew that.”

He laughed again and she smiled with him automatically. “I’m lucky too though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was a labour of love. I have never written a oneshot this long. (and honestly it's never taken me so long to do it!) I hope you enjoyed this as much as (I did I love Lizzie!!) <3


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